


The Pressure of Malady

by 2amEuphoria



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brightwell, Chronic Illness, F/M, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hiding Medical Issues, Literary References & Allusions, Medical Trauma, Multi, Other, major character illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22759621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2amEuphoria/pseuds/2amEuphoria
Summary: “The lucidity is what will kill you. The knowing. The echoes that call to you while in the primal throes of madness. Do you hear them in yourself? I bet you can.”In which I try and write an entire canon-divergent episode?Established Brightwell relationship. Inspired by the plot of 1x13.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Comments: 25
Kudos: 94





	1. Incubation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends! It’s been a while! I have several WIPs I’m trying to work through for you, but last night I was listening to a podcast and got an idea that I could not let go of. So, with a million other things that I could be finishing and publishing for you all... I give you: this. 
> 
> Once again, endless thanks to @morningssofgold for helping me with brainstorming and literature help!

“This shit reeks. You’re lucky you can’t smell any of this, Bright,” JT whispers.

The foyer is plastered in red. It dances across the wallpaper, glints off windows. Paints itself into the golden accents on the rug. Its origin, the man on the floor, lays splayed out for all to see. Rigor mortis sets his jaw open, molds his fingers crinkled into claws. Edrisa swipes samples from underneath his nails, brows furrowed in concentration as well as disgust; the victim relieved himself post-mortem. It was unfortunate for the rest of the team, but not for Malcolm, whose nasal passages were so congested from a cold that he couldn’t detect a thing.

Moving by him, Dani’s fingertips graze his elbow. Her eyes catch his, concerned. She didn’t want him to be here to begin with thanks to his 100.7 degree fever, but the fact that he wouldn’t wear a facemask like the rest of the team bothered her just as much. He’d insisted that a mask would suffocate him, but considering the expressions of their coworkers, Dani was surprised that the stench wasn’t doing the job to him instead.

“Edrisa,” Gil mutters, suppressing a gag, “what’ve we got so far?”

“One poor unfortunate soul, boss,” the medical examiner chirps from her post at the vic’s side. “Given the state of rigor mortis I’d say he left the earth about 12 hours ago. The... _strength_ of the smell coming from his undergarments leads me to informally think that as well.”

“Cause of death?” JT asks, watching CSU dust a Victorian-style lamp for fingerprints.

“At face value, it looks like a physical altercation lead him to his demise. He’s got plenty of defensive wounds, which leads me to think he was quite capable of fighting back against his opponent-perhaps our killer was an ideal match for him, rather than someone bigger and stronger? However-” she gestures to a wide, bloodied candle nestled beside an armchair a few feet away- “what the culprit lacked in brawn, they made up for in wit. A few quick smacks to his head and our gentleman here ended up with a hole in a place where it shouldn’t be.” Dani’s brows knitted together at the state of his bashed-in skull, blood pooling on the rug around it. “An autopsy will tell me more, but my guess is some kind of subarachnoid bleed ultimately did him in.”

“Our guy’s 36-year-old Matthew Constantino,” JT announces, stepping closer to give his report. “One of the heirs to the Constantino Home Building company. The father and grandfather dedicated their lives to creating half the homes in the outer-city suburbs, including right here in Tarrytown. Most of the blocks around here owe their remodeled luxury houses to this family. Matty was running the business after his father died in ’07... Until now, that is.”

“And the other heir?” Malcolm sniffed. “You mentioned he was ‘one’ of them.”

“The other’s Gabriella Constantino. 32. But she’s not much to talk about- got sick soon after the father died and has never been the same. Was living here thanks to Matthew and home health staff but they just moved her to a hospital this morning. Sounds like she's got it so bad that she might’ve not even heard what was going on.”

“But can we say that for sure?” Malcolm ponders, circling the body. Edrisa peers up at him with a glint in her eye, knowing that his profiler brain doesn’t buy what the facts present. “Who placed the call?”

“That we don’t know,” Gil responds, arms folded as he shakes his head. “Call from a payphone just outside Tarrytown. Voice was male, about Matthew’s age. Frantic- either he was trying to disguise the fact that he did it, or he was an eyewitness that was mortified by what he saw.” Gil disappears in the direction of the kitchen.

“We need to find him,” Malcolm mutters under his breath, surveying Matthew’s taut and open jaw. His gaze then shifts to the man’s upper face, notes the raised forehead lines and wild eyes, transfixed on the chandelier above them. “Two men were scared here... One of them scared to death.”

_____________

He jumps when he sees her standing outside the men’s bathroom.

“Are you hiding that you’re hacking up a lung by coughing in the bathroom again?” She taps her foot like a disapproving mother.

He smiles, stifling a chuckle and then the cough that immediately follows it. She runs a hand across his shoulder blades as they head to the conference room. 

“You’re sick, Malcolm. You did your part coming to the crime scene with us, and now it’s time to go home.” 

He’s still taken aback each time she uses his first name instead of “Bright.” They’ve only been together for a few months, and everything still feels new- seeing her hair products in the bathroom next to his, her car in his once-vacant driveway, waking up next to her each morning. None of these adjustments are “bad” new things, per se, but they’re still new. He’s lived much of his adult life alone, watching his mother and Ainsley and the occasional love interest come and go out of the places he’s lived, until now. Dani came into his life, willing to be patient with these new adjustments, and hasn’t left since. 

He leans against her embrace, earning a smile that touches her eyes. “I know,” he murmurs. “Thank you. Let me just stay for the debrief, and _then_ I’ll consider heading home.” 

She raises an eyebrow-he’s lying and she knows it-but she squeezes his tricep and opens the door to the conference room for him.

_____________

“Can you not sit near me, Patient Zero?” JT playfully chides when Malcolm looks over his shoulder at a CSU photo of Matthew’s fingernails. Malcolm obliges, moving to stand next to Gil in front of the whiteboard. The two pour over information scrawled in Gil’s stylistic capital letter handwriting: “CONSTANTINO, MATTHEW – 36 YO – CEO + HEIR OF CONSTRUCTION COMPANY – TOD: ~ 12 HRS AGO – AUTOPSY PENDING – COD: CANDLE? FIGHT?”

“This just in, ladies and gents!” Edrisa swings the door open, a stapled packet of papers in hand. “I come bearing gifts!”

“What’ve you got, Edrisa?” Gil replies, eyeing Malcolm as he coughs from inhaling too sharply.

“Not an upper respiratory tract infection, unlike someone else here,” she says, concern flooding her features. “You need a doctor, Bright- the kind for living people, not me.”

“I’m fine,” Malcolm sputters, “just keep going.”

With a dubious nod, the medical examiner continues. “I was right- Matthew had a subarachnoid hemorrhage caused by trauma from the candle. But he also had something else... Something that may or may not have also contributed to his death...” Edrisa’s eyes flicked across her report, as if she didn’t believe her own findings.

“...Go on,” Dani prompted after a moment of silence between the five of them.

“The calcium levels in his blood were _extremely_ high. Calcium pours into our heart cells when we’re full of adrenaline, which makes the heart contract strongly in turn. But feed those heart cells too _much_ calcium, and you’ll get a _much_ stronger contraction than you’d hoped for.”

“Which sounds like bad news,” JT adds.

“Exactly right! Too much adrenaline, too much contraction, and the heart slips into ventricular fibrillation, a disordered movement pattern. And _that_ will cause a drop in blood pressure, so _that-”_

“-Will cause a heart attack,” Malcolm interrupts. The team watches as his tired features light up. “You think he might’ve died of fright!”

“Is this some cheesy movie we’re in?” JT remarks, dropping the photo in his hand. “Dude died because he’s a chicken?”

Edrisa shoots a finger gun at him. “Bright is _right_ again! Um, maybe. It’s hard to say, especially because we have a brain bleed that _really_ did a number on him. But do I think it’s possible that he had a heart attack because of something he saw, and as he tried to fight the killer that candle silenced him for good? Signs point to ‘meh, I’d bet money on it.’ And, um, I wrote that in a much more professional way on my report, of course.” Gil nods approvingly at her flushed cheeks.

“If Matthew died of fright, it makes sense that the person who placed the call was scared, too,” Dani chimes in. “Maybe our killer scared _both_ of them, but Matthew didn’t live to tell the tale.”

“Or we have a killer who was just as terrified of what he’d done as his victim was,” Gil retorts. “We need to find him first before we go looking for other suspects.”

“Was Matthew an anxious person at baseline?” Malcolm questions Edrisa. 

“Yes, actually. My tox screen found several drugs in his system- Alprazolam, Escitalopram, Trazadone.”

“Ativan, Lexapro, and Trazadone,” Malcolm lists them as he paces. “Two anxiety/depression drugs and a sleeping pill... He _was_ scared often, but of what? And more importantly, what pushed him over the edge?”

“He was helping to take care of Gabriella, right?” Dani offers. “Being a caregiver’s incredibly stressful. He’d need help caring for himself.”

“I had an uncle who had a heart attack after taking care of his wife for a few months,” JT adds. “She had a hip replacement, and it totally threw off their daily life. She was also a piece of work though, so maybe it was destined to happen all along-”

“Where is Gabriella now?” Gil breaks off JT’s tangent with a raised hand.

“One of my people told me they moved her to Henry J. Carter Specialty Hospital, right here in Manhattan,” Edrisa volunteers. “It’s an LTACH: a long-term acute care hospital. Not too far from the precinct.”

“Perfect. Dani, take the walking parasite home and then go to Carter to see if you can get anything out of Gabriella. JT, you and I will try to track down that call. Edrisa, let us know if anything else comes up.”

“Um, Boss-” Edrisa starts-

“I’m not a _parasite,_ Gil,” Malcolm retorts, “I’m fine going to Cart-”

“Boss, there’s one problem-”

“You’d make my elementary school nurse send you home, dude,” JT scoffs at Malcolm, “and she wouldn’t let kids leave if they were bleeding from their eyeballs.”

“Boss-”

“Hey! _Enough!”_ Gil slaps a hand on the table. “I give my orders only once. I want everyone out of this room and doing their jobs. _Now.”_

_____________

Edrisa catches Dani’s arm as she follows Malcolm to grab their coats. “Dani, I need to tell you something before you go see Gabriella.”

“Of course.”

“She has something called encephalitis lethargica,” the medical examiner tries to say the diagnosis slowly, but Dani’s knitted brows still relayed confusion. “It’s rare. Almost unheard of. Used to be called ‘sleeping sickness.’ I obviously haven’t seen what she looks like, but she could be catatonic, have symptoms similar to Parkinson’s disease, be in and out of a sleep-like state... Patients with EL also often have psychosis.” Dani nodded, trying to keep the information together in her head. “I’m not sure what you’ll get out of her, if anything at all... Speak to any staff there and see if they’ll give you something to work off of. But don’t be surprised if you get nothing.”

“Thank you, Edrisa. That’s helpful.”

“Of course! Let me know what you find out. And make sure _he_ stays out of any hospitals,” she gestures to Bright, who barks “are you two talking about me?” from the coat rack. 

Dani smiles and pats Edrisa’s shoulder. “Will do. See you- sans _him-_ in a few hours.”

_____________

They clip their seatbelts on in her car in silence, but she knows him well. He’s going to say something-it’s only a matter of how ridiculous it is.

“I hope you know I’m not leaving this car unless you take me to Carter with you,” he finally declares.

“And I hope _you_ know I used to be able to pick my 6-foot brother up and haul him a couple feet when we were teenagers,” she replies. “You’re mincemeat. Easy.”

“Good luck trying. I’m a pretty good screamer.”

“Oh, I _know_ you are.” Her tone flips from serious to seductive, and she relishes the pink that flushes his cheeks as she slides a hand up his arm. “I’m used to it, and so are the neighbors. They won’t suspect a thing.” 

He catches her hand and her ploy at the same time. “That only works when I _want _you to seduce me, Detective Powell, but not now.” Once again, another lie, given the way he squirms in his seat when her fingertips reach his neck, just above his shirt collar.__

__“Gil didn’t give me an explicit time to come back. I can persuade you to lay down,” Dani purrs, her nails tickling his stubble. “And you already have restraints I can use to my advantage.”_ _

__“You wanna get sick, too?”_ _

__“I think it’s safe to say that my diet and sleep schedule gives me a _much_ better immune system than yours, tough guy. Five days since you came down with this and I still haven’t gotten it yet.”_ _

__He can’t deny that spending a little alone time with her would feel more therapeutic than cold medicine, but his curiosity has -shockingly- overpowered any other primal urge he has right now._ _

__“I’ll wear a mask,” he pleads, wishing she’d take her hand off his jaw so he could focus better. “And I won’t touch anything. Nothing. Please, Dani; I _have_ to go too. How can I build a profile with almost nothing to go off of?”_ _

__“You don’t trust me?” she whispers, leaning across the center console to kiss his neck. She’s terribly good at getting what she wants, and he loathes -and loves- her for it. “You don’t trust that I’ll ask the right questions? That I know what information you’d be looking to get from her?” Her breath is tantalizing against his skin._ _

__Their “argument” is interrupted by a tap against Dani’s window. Both of them yelp and turn to see Gil there, arms folded, beckoning Dani to roll her window down._ _

__“I like the thought of you guys together, I really do. But I don’t need to see you two getting hot and heavy on the security cameras; none of the other officers here do, either.” They sink back in their seats like two teenagers caught at a lover’s lane. Gil smirks for a moment at their reactions for a moment before his face settles._ _

__“Change of plans. Edrisa mentioned Gabriella’s diagnosis to me-what she was trying to say when most of you were whining like children. Now I want you to go to Carter too, Bright, since you’d be able to decipher what’s this woman’s diagnosis and what’s flat-out lying. But _then _you go straight home, and Powell, you come straight back here- no “down time” or whatever you two were just trying to do in between. And wear a mask this time, Bright, or they’ll kick you out of the facility. Is that clear?”___ _

____Dani nodded. Malcolm sniffed._ _ _ _

____Gil tapped the hood of Dani’s car. “Off you go, then. Keep it PG.”_ _ _ _


	2. Prodrome

The only sound that fills the air is the pulses of monitors and hushed whispers of nurses. Malcolm walks close to Dani as they move down the hall, his eyes wary. With the face mask he wears covering his nose and mouth, Malcolm looks like an anxious, muzzled dog being taken to a pound. He’s never enjoyed hospitals, having been a patient one too many times thanks to the snake bite and his injuries from Watkins. Dani, however, strolls to the nurse’s station with a cool confidence he latches on to. He wishes they could ditch the professionalism so he could hold her hand.

She flashes her badge at the first nurse who looks up from a computer screen, introduces them both and explains their situation. From the corner of his eye Malcolm sees a patient through an open door: a frail man, his body almost indistinguishable under a thin sheet, with a tracheostomy tube attached to a ventilator. He feels Dani’s hand nudge his, a subtle warning to stop staring.

“She may not be responsive,” the nurse tells them, “we just gave her levodopa, which takes about 30 minutes to kick in. It’s still worth a try, though... I’ll bring you to her room.”

They follow her down the hall to an open room with large windows. The sun blinds them both at first, but Malcolm’s eyes adjust quicker and he makes out Gabriella’s form, lying motionless in bed. 

The woman before them is fixed on her back, locked in a rigid position with her legs bent at the knee and an arm, bent at the elbow, in the air. A few strands of her long, wavy dark hair threaten to cover one of her brown eyes, which are transfixed on the popcorn ceiling above them. Her face is expressionless, “masked” as Malcolm understands it, lips pressed together in a firm line. 

“Gabriella,” the nurse murmurs, walking over to her. “Gabby... You have visitors from the NYPD. They wanted to talk about Matt, if that’s okay?” The nurse brushes her hair out of her face, and Malcolm nearly jumps when he sees her blink.

“Just talk to her, see what you get. If you can stay until her meds start working, you’ll get more from her,” the nurse adjusts Gabriella’s sheets and starts towards a few stiff-cushioned chairs in the corner of the room before Dani reaches for them herself.

“We’ll stay as long as we can,” Dani replies.

“Of course. I’ll come in to check on you all soon,” the nurse assures before heading out.

Malcolm settles into a chair beside Dani, who still seems far more unbothered by this experience than he does. He fidgets with his cuff links; she swats his hands. 

“If you’re uncomfortable, they’re uncomfortable,” she warns him with a whisper. “Interviewing 101, didn’t Quantico teach you that?”

“Sorry,” he sighs, before looking at Gabriella. “Hospitals aren’t my comfort zone, Gabriella. Or can we call you Gabby?”

“Gabby,” Dani starts, her voice calm but authoritative, “we’d like to talk to you about what happened to your brother last night. We were in your home this morning, but you had left by then so we couldn’t speak to you. Is there anything you could tell us about what happened?”

They wait in silence, but the woman’s face remains unresponsive. Malcolm ponders if he can subtly play with his cufflinks again without Dani noticing. 

And then, she moves. Gabriella’s mouth begins to open, her jaw lowering with jerking, ratcheting motions.

“Is she going to cry?” Dani whispers to him, shifting in her chair. “I can grab her nurse-”

“She’s alright,” his arm stops her. “It happens with this condition. It’s called cogwheel rigidity. Happens with Parkinson’s... and, in her case, post-encephalitic Parkinsonism.”

“I thought she had that other condition Edrisa mentioned,” she replies, her voice low.

“She did. PEP is the aftermath. Let’s see if she talks.” Malcolm then rises from his chair, hesitant but curious. “Gabby? What can you tell us about your brother?”

Gabby’s jaw locks in an open position. Dani rises from her chair as well, poised beside Malcolm as they wait. Instead of the words they’d hoped for, they watch as saliva pools and spills down her chin. Dani grabs a facecloth off of the nightstand beside the woman’s bed and dabs around her mouth. 

“What are you _doing?”_ Malcolm hisses.

Dani turns, meeting his worried gaze with an irritated look of her own. “What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’ Wouldn’t you want someone to do this for you if you were in this position?” She continues to clean Gabby up, her touch gentle.

A stray tear rolls down Gabby’s cheek. Dani catches it with the facecloth, then bends down beside the woman, resting a hand over hers. “It’s okay, Gabby,” Dani soothes. “We’re sorry for your loss. If you need to talk about it, we’re here.”

Malcolm feels a buzz against his thigh, and frees his phone from his pocket. “Gil?” he asks, nodding to Dani before stepping a few paces towards the door.

“Got anything?” Gil replies.

“Not yet. Her meds haven’t kicked in. How long can we stay here?”

“Unfortunately not long enough today. Wrap it up and come back to the precinct; JT and I found something.”

“Her meds take 30 minutes; if we wait just a bit longer-”

Dani sneezes twice into her elbow before looking up at Malcolm. Malcolm raises an eyebrow at her; she shakes her head disapprovingly.

“You can visit her again, kid,” Gil’s voice snaps him back to the call. “The lead we uncovered seems more promising, and needs to be followed up with sooner.”

After a pregnant pause and a shrug in Dani’s direction, Gil speaks again: “sorry, kid. Social work handles the collateral damage from these things; we catch the killers. You guys can follow up with her another day.”

“Alright,” Malcolm resigns to Gil’s order. “We’ll see you soon.”

“We have to get going,” Malcolm tells Dani, who’s tossed the facecloth she was using in a soiled linen bin by the window. “Gil’s orders. Him and JT found something.”

“It better be good, then, if we’re going to leave our one witness behind,” she mutters, buttoning her jacket. She turns to Gabby, whose eyes have now closed.

“We’ll come back soon Gabby, okay?” Dani calls to her as they move slowly towards the door. “Have someone call us if you have something urgent, though. We’ll leave a card with your nurse.” 

“Take care, Gabby,” Malcolm says, lingering a moment longer before following Dani back into the hall.

_____________

“You looking for an extended stay at this place?” Malcolm asks as he buckles his seatbelt. “You seemed _very_ comfortable there, just in time for you to catch my cold...”

His playfulness ends as soon as he realizes her face is serious. He shrinks back, waiting for her to admonish him for teasing her about getting sick.

“My dad was in the hospital for a long time,” she says matter-of-factly. “He had glioblastoma. Died in a facility just like this.” She stares ahead as she shifts the car into drive. “So yeah, I am pretty comfortable in these places. Unfortunately.”

“Dani, I’m so sorry. I had no idea-”

“You didn’t; I never told you. It’s fine.” She glances at him quickly before bringing her eyes back to the road. “It just... taught me a lot. About dignity. About the person underneath those sheets. If I was that sick, I’d want someone to treat me like a person instead of a zoo animal, too.”

“I agree.”

She sighs, scratching her hairline. “He would’ve liked you,” she remarks, a smile on her lips.

“Really?”

“No.” She cackles when he shrugs. “Not at first, anyway.”

_____________

“Gabriella had a whole team of home health professionals who looked after her,” JT starts, pacing at the front of the conference room. “Including one who came pret-ty frickin’ often.”

“Dr. Michael Bloom, neurologist. He got Gabriella on levodopa, monitored her condition... which, according to medical records, was frequently,” Gil adds.

“As in every month?” Dani asks.

“As in almost weekly,” JT scoffs. “You ever had a doc care that much about you? If I had someone see me weekly for my rotator cuff issue, I’d invite the guy over to dinner.”

“Which is exactly what you think happened,” Malcolm deduces, rising out of his chair to look over Dr. Bloom’s information on the whiteboard. “You think he became more than the friendly family doctor.”

“Yep,” Gil nods. “I think he got close to the family. The question is why.”

“He could’ve fallen in love with Gabriella, got angry that Matthew wanted to break things off... He could’ve become fast friends with Matthew until Matthew wouldn’t let him get paid for the weekly visits. The possibilities are endless.”

“So where do we find this guy?” Dani ponders. “Where is he now?”

“Missing, as of this morning,” JT shakes his head as he stares at the doctor’s photograph. “Didn’t show up to any of his morning appointments. Guy could’ve cashed out his life savings and be on the first plane to Taiwan as far as we know.”

“So we monitor his bank accounts, check in with his patients. We lie in wait until we hear from him.” Malcolm rubs his chin, thinking. “And we put a watch on the Constantino house. See if he goes back to check on Gabriella. Could this have been the man on the call?”

“Without a comparable voice recording, we don’t know for sure,” Gil shrugs. “We left voicemails with people he works with; we’ll see if they follow up after the work day ends. Bring them in, have them listen to the call. With any luck-”

His musing is interrupted by an abrupt coughing fit and leaves Dani doubling over in her seat, gasping for breath between hacks. Malcolm rushes over, beginning to cough himself from the exertion, to push her cup of water closer to her. She takes it, shaking, and gulps down as much as she can until her breathing returns to normal.

“Okay, the both of you: go home, _now,”_ Gil snaps his fingers at them, pointing towards the door. “I don’t want to see hide or hair from either of you until Monday at the very latest. JT and I will take care of things here until then.”

“Gil-” Dani starts, “I really think this is nothing-”

“Nope. Home, I mean it. Jackie taught Malcolm how to make her famous chicken soup; he can make it for both of you.” 

Malcolm laughs. “Oof, that was a _while_ ago-”

“Then take some time to remember it. Out. Enjoy your four day weekend; it might be the last one I ever grant both of you.”

_____________

“I wish we got this long weekend under different circumstances,” Malcolm chuckles as they walk to her car in the parking lot. “Too bad we’re both a little out of breath to do something more fun with all the time we’ll have now.”

She smacks his shoulder, smirking when he winces. “Shut up, Sherlock Freud. I am _not_ sick.”

He pulls her hand into his own, feigning shock and letting go of it. “With hands that feel like Florida instead of Alaska for once? I think not.”

She raises a fist at him again; he backs off. Dani wipes her forehead, stunned by the warmth she feels. “Shit. Maybe I am...”

“Told you so-”

“This is your fault.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he remarks, opening her driver’s side door and giving her a quick kiss before she hops in.

“You certainly will once you remember that recipe... Get in. We have work we can do at home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mkay, I lied about this chapter talking about the reason for the title. NEXT chapter. Which, hopefully, will be up by the end of this week.


	3. Signs and Symptoms

Papers flutter, notebook pages turned over by the wind, and their eyes meet for the first time in nearly an hour.

It was him who’d suggested they opened a window earlier in the day, before they were deep in their research. The otherwise raw March weather had given them a reprieve, a day of sun instead of clouds, and they’ve been breathing the same stale room air for weeks. The breeze felt welcoming, tickling their cheeks every so often as they’d poured over books and the Internet. Car horns and selections of street conversation could occasionally be heard over Dani’s playlist, coming through the speakers in the living room.

Their eyes now snap up at each other, and then to the notebook in danger of sliding off Malcolm’s desk and into the menagerie of papers on the floor below. 

“I’ll get it. You rest.” He slides out of his chair and jogs over, praying his breath is stable enough to stave off a coughing fit. Dani watches him, her doe eyes concerned as he grabs the notebook with one hand and braces himself on his desk with the other. He’s panting a bit, just soft enough for her to hear, and his eyes relay the words his lungs can’t give him: _“it’s fine. I’m okay. Go back to what you were doing.”_

Gil had given them a reprieve from work nearly 2 weeks ago now. They ended up needing a long weekend and then some: Malcolm’s sickness plagued him until Friday of the following week, and Dani was only just starting to have days where she had enough energy to make it through a full day. The apartment turned into their own personal sickbay while whatever had come over them- “probably Influenza A,” Malcolm suspected-kept them bed-ridden.

They’d both only recently come back to work, in part because they were too ill and in part due to not being needed. Dr. Bloom hadn’t resurfaced; his co-workers had no idea where he’d gone off to. None of them knew about his seemingly close relationship with the Constantino family; “none of them had even so much as a jealously-fueled rumor to share about the guy,” JT had told them when they returned. “Doc’s as squeaky clean as his hands.” Gabriella and the rest of her medical team at Carter hadn’t gotten in touch with them either.

With no new leads in the Constantino case, and nothing else that Gil and JT couldn’t handle on their own, Malcolm and Dani had been resigned to desk work until they were stable enough for the physical aspects of the job again. Both found the prospect of being inside the walls of the precinct all day agonizing, but weekend days like today, though filled with the same stationary tasks, felt much less tedious. Malcolm would pull out all of his journals, binders full of his neat, orderly script from classes Harvard, and every textbook, memoir or otherwise relevant document that might give them insight into Matthew’s killer’s head. They’d each take their respective seats- Dani partially reclined on the couch, Malcolm in an armchair by a window- and hunt answers in silence until either found something useful.

Malcolm breaks the silence more often than not. He looks up now, listening to the catchy beat of the rap song playing, and Dani can almost hear him thinking as he analyzes the lyrics: _“three more millions when you ask how my day go/ poured up a four, now that’s blueberry Faygo...”_

“What’s blueberry Faygo?” He asks.

“It’s a drink from Detroit. Like soda.”

“Oh. Thought it was another drug I didn’t know the street name for.”

Dani taps her pen against her forehead, rolling her eyes. “You kill me.”

“What?! Last time this happened you had to explain to me what Lean was.”

Dani shakes her head, a smirk etched across her tired features. He grins back, fully aware of how much of a kick she gets out of his lack of street knowledge.

“Well if you listen, he does say “Lean” just after he says blueberry Faygo here, so he _is_ implying he’s made it into a drug...” Malcolm pats himself on the back, and she rolls her eyes once more. “But still. You’re insufferable.”

They return to silence again, but only for 30 seconds.

“Can we try it?”

She looks up at him, worried. _“Lean?”_

His eyes pop. “No, _no!_ Blueberry Faygo. I don’t need any more illicit drugs in my system. One time was enough.”

Dani pulls her laptop off of the coffee table and into her lap. “Good,” she mutters, beginning to type and whispering under her breath “you probably wouldn’t be able to stomach the taste anyway.”

She must’ve seen him retract in response to her statement, because she shrugs and smiles even wider. “I was undercover, Malcolm. I didn’t exactly drink it by _choice.”_

He presses his fingertips to his face, bewildered as he processes this information. Dani looks up at him again, letting a snort escape her as she takes in his expression. “It’s not sold anywhere around here. Too bad, because it’s apparently well loved.”

“We’ll just have to go to Michigan then,” Malcolm offers, draping one leg over the other and leaning back into his chair. “When we have time after catching this killer, that is.”

Dani sighs, acknowledging that they might be a while before they have free time again. She stands, stretching her limbs before striding across the room to put away the blocky textbook she was reading. She curses under her breath when her attempt to squeeze it in next to its shelf-mates sends a small paperback tumbling onto the floor. Sighing, she bends down to grab the book, her mind lurching when she notes how much that act alone took her breath out of her. To her surprise, it’s not an autographed novel by Ann Rule, but rather something she’s never seen him express interest in before.

“What the hell is this? _Rabid?”_ Dani flips the book’s front cover towards Malcolm. “You spend a lot of time putting dogs behind bars at Quantico?”

His eyes widen with acknowledgement when he recognizes the diseased canine on the cover’s edge. “I haven’t seen that in months! I thought it didn’t make it through the move with me!”

Her brows press together. “Care to explain why you have so much reverence for a virus?”

He chuckles, a noise she’s missed. They’d spent so much time coughing these past weeks that humor, intentional or not, wasn’t welcomed due to its propensity to leave either of them gasping for air. “It’s an interesting book. Written by a journalist and his veterinarian wife. They combined the biology of rabies with its history and cultural significance into a random library book I couldn’t stop re-reading. Had to buy a copy for myself eventually.”

“You’re so strange,” she remarks, smiling at his idiosyncratic obsession as she sifts through a few pages. She calls out chapter names as she flips through: “‘The Middle Rages.’ ‘A Virus with Teeth.’ ‘Canicide.’ Interesting.”

“If I remember right, those were my favorite chapters,” Malcolm pipes up as he bookmarks a page from a notebook. “All about vampires and werewolves and people believed to be inspired by the virus to write stories.”

“That’s where vampires and werewolves come from?” Dani asks, wrinkling her nose as she starts to skim for mention of the cryptic creatures. “Gross.”

“It’s about the idea of being overcome with a rabies-like ‘rage,’ the act of biting their victims and all that,” Malcolm replies. “People were fascinated by the rage aspect in particular. Victims of rabies vacillate between periods of intense fury and lucidity, which is, in essence, terrifying... Edgar Allen Poe, I think the book mentions, may have been inspired by the contrast in behavior as he wrote some of his stories.”

“Which ones?” Dani flips the pages faster now, waiting for the author’s name to catch her eye.

“I don’t remember exactly. I think all his stories were like that to some degree?” He shrugs. “Actually, if you find it in there, there’s a whole section that discusses the theory that Poe died as a result of rabies. It was utterly fascinating; the evidence-”

“-Malcolm.”

He looks up to meet her wide eyes. “What?”

Dani sandwiches the book between her palms. “Did you read _The Fall of the House of Usher?”_

His brow furrows in thought for a moment before he shakes his head. “Nope. Not that one.”

Dani weaves between piles of paper and notebooks to resume her seat on the couch, reaching for her pen and pad of paper. “We read it in tenth grade. It was so creepy I actually paid attention, which was saying something back then... I hated Ms. Johnson’s class at the end of the day. It was just so... weird...”

“What happens in it?” he cocks his head to the side as she types furiously.

“Picture this. Setting is a spooky old house, and there’s this narrator-we have no idea who they are- who’s visiting his old friend who’s a bit of a basketcase. The friend doesn’t live alone, though; he’s got a sister who’s ill.” Malcolm steadies himself as their eyes meet again; both of them are shaking.

Dani jots down the similarities before she continues. “The friend’s sister seems to die out of nowhere, so the men freak out and bury her underneath the house. But then the _house_ starts to act strange, and the two of them panic even more... What are you staring at?”

He looks lost in thought as he gazes at her, his knuckles from his right hand resting under his chin, every dimple on display. “You’re so cute when you get passionate about something. Especially books.”

She opens her mouth to remind him that she’s always hated reading- she’s always found the task difficult- before the front door swings open.

“How’re we doing, germs?” JT’s voice makes both of them jump as he strolls in. A half-pace behind him, Tally reaches forward and claps him on the shoulder. 

“Honey, leave your attitude at the door,” she snaps as JT brings a hand up to the area. She rests her elbows on the edge of the couch by Dani, reaching over to squeeze her arm softly. “Seriously, how are you two doing?”

Malcolm sometimes wonders why Dani had convinced him to give the Tarmels an extra key. “Just in case,” Dani had said when she explained her reasoning to him. But when did that “in case” situation ever occur? All he and Dani had ever known was the two of them barging in unannounced.

“I think we’re okay,” Malcolm replies, quirking a brow as he watches JT help himself to a beer in the fridge. “Still looking for something that’ll help us solve this case.”

“The one with the woman in the LTACH?” Tally remarks, turning to see JT offering her a beer while he gulps his down. Malcolm and Dani lock eyes, and she shares a subtle eye roll and a smile with him behind the Tarmels’ backs. She’s explained to him, time and time again, that they’re lovely people, just more “comfortable” in other people’s homes than Malcolm’s seen before.

“I’ve been filling Tally in on this one,” JT says after swallowing audibly. “Think Gil could let us bring her in as a consultant?”

Tally was an occupational therapist at Mount Sinai West’s inpatient rehab unit, specializing in treating patients with brain injuries and neurodegenerative diseases. Her experiences made her a captivating storyteller, but JT had a point; she could be incredibly useful for this case.

“I’d love that, JT,” Dani answers. “She could keep you in line.” Tally high-fives her as she offers JT a sarcastic smile.

“Have you seen anyone with encephalitis lethargica, Tally?” Malcolm questions, bringing all three of them back to the subject at hand.

“With EL? No, never. That was a lot more common in the early 1900s, just after the first World War,” Tally replies. “People wondered if it was a result of the 1918 Flu pandemic, because EL became rampant right afterwards. But we rarely see it today. I’ve only read about it- once, in grad school.”

“Probably a book she pretended to read to make me leave her alone,” JT mumbles.

“Nope. That was _The Diving Bell and the Butterfly._ I remember.” Tally smiles up at him before turning to Malcolm and continuing. “You’ve heard of Oliver Sacks, I’m guessing?”

“Absolutely! _The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.”_

Dani and JT shoot each other a glance as their significant others become more wrapped up in their conversation.

“He had another book, _Awakenings,_ that he wrote about his experiences with EL patients. He actually treated them at Beth Abraham right in the Bronx, Dani.” Dani perks up, turning her body to face Tally better.

“Wanna grab me another beer, sweetheart?” Tally pushes her empty bottle into JT’s side before he can even respond. He leaves them for the kitchen, muttering under his breath. 

“Parkinsonism is interesting,” she continues, “but it was largely misunderstood back then. Patients with post-encephalitic Parkinsonism were left behind in institutions after the EL outbreak in the 1900s, with no one who truly wanted to learn how to improve their quality of life... Until Sacks. He proposed using Levadopa with them, and it introduced these patients to a whole new quality of life... up until it no longer worked. I wonder where this woman is at in terms of Levadopa’s effectiveness for her.”

“It’s been years, so... I’m guessing it no longer helps her the way it used to,” Dani remarks. “When we visited her it hadn’t really kicked in yet, but I do honestly wonder how different she’d have been compared to when we saw her. She was frozen.”

“Did you see if she had ‘The Will of the Ball?’”

“I’m sorry?” Malcolm and Dani ask in unison, confused.

Tally grins. “Watch the movie. With Robin Williams. You’ll see.”

“Are we going to stay here and order something to eat, Tal, now that you’re already two beers in and nerding out on us?” JT calls from the kitchen.

_____________

“As interesting of a person this woman is now, I’d have been concerned if you guys had gone to see her when she was in the early stages of the illness.”

Tally wipes her hands on a napkin before folding up a take-out box to toss out. The Tarmels opted to stay in and order dinner with Malcolm and Dani- much to Malcolm’s subtle displeasure and Dani’s amusement. 

“Why’s that?” Dani asks, elbowing Malcolm to encourage him to eat more of his rice. JT stifles a laugh between mouthfuls.  


“The father died in 1993, which is around the time you said she got sick... And she’s thirty two, so she was around, what, five then? Some children had very severe reactions to EL. _Scary_ reactions.”

Malcolm realizes that he doesn’t have to eat more if he can engage Tally in conversation. “Define ‘scary’ then?”

“Some children had homicidal tendencies, actually. Would fly into fits of rage. But the worst part about it is that they were aware that they acted this way, they just... couldn’t stop themselves from it. They’d apologize in between fits of anger and violence... sometimes towards others, sometimes towards themselves.”

Malcolm nudges Dani this time, but from the look on her face, she already seems to be formulating the same theories he is.

“To be cognizant of the fact that you’re hurting other people or yourself, and that you _know_ you shouldn’t be doing this but can’t stop...” Tally stares at her now-empty plate. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Well, she’s not five anymore,” JT huffs, taking his and Tally’s plates to put in the dishwasher. “Long past that point. Ready to go, Tal? You’ve had a long day-”

“Is she actually past that point, though?” Malcolm interjects, rising from his seat as Tally leaves her spot at the island. “Could she still be homicidal now?”

“I- I’m not sure...” Tally stammers. “Like I said, I don’t see patients with EL. Everything I know is from books, and there’s not even much to be said about this population in the literature.”

“You think she did this, Bright?” JT asks incredulously as he grabs Tally’s jacket for her. “She couldn’t talk when you two saw her. She’s stuck in a hospital bed. How would we interrogate her? Get anything out of her?”

“You can interrogate someone from a hospital bed,” Malcolm’s pleading his case now. “We can make sure she’s taken her meds. We can’t find any other suspects, right? Until we find Bloom, why _wouldn’t_ we ask her some questions?”

“Malcolm.” He’s stopped by Dani’s grip on his arm. He looks down to meet her worried gaze.

“I think you guys need to find her doctor first,” Tally says, zipping up her coat beside JT. “Just remember, she’s ill... The people I see with Parkinson’s understand suffering so much that they could never let another person suffer along with them. Never.”

Dani slides off her seat to stand next to him, banging her foot audibly against Malcolm’s seat in the process. The others watch her curse and rub her throbbing toes.

“I’m fine,” she sighs when Malcolm puts a hand on her shoulder. She looks to JT and Tally. “I won’t let him do anything reckless, guys. Go on home. Tell the girls we say hi,” she says, referencing their twin daughters, who’ve spent the day with Tally’s parents.

“See you guys Monday,” JT nods as he opens the door for his wife.

After the Tarmels leave, he looks at Dani, who’s still massaging her foot. “Dani...” his voice is a soft plea.

She sighs. “Okay.”

_____________

Visitors are no longer allowed at Carter Hospital at this late hour, but they get in thanks to Dani’s badge. This time Malcolm feels more confident in the hospital hallways; he has questions he needs answered.

“It’s been 4 hours since her last dose,” the nurse tells them. “You’re more than welcome to go in, but... I’m not sure if she can give you anything useful right now.”

“That’s okay,” Malcolm answers. He follows closely behind the nurse, much to Dani’s surprise.

The nurse leaves them with Gabriella, who sits upright in bed, eyes looking at, but not watching, the TV mounted on the wall in front of her.

“Gabby, we’re back,” Malcolm starts. He reaches for something in his peacoat pocket.

“Malcolm, what are you doing?” Dani leans off of the wall after propping herself up against it to rub the same foot she’d hurt earlier. She steps towards him as he pulls out a blue stress ball.

“Gabby, catch,” Malcolm instructs, and tosses the ball across the room before Dani can stop him.

With eyes still fixed on the TV, and without moving another muscle, Gabby raises a hand to catch the stress ball.

They stare at her, speechless. 

After a few moments, Dani groans and leans against Malcolm to rub her foot again. 

“What’s wrong? Your foot _still_ hurts?” Malcolm asks, putting an arm around her.

“It’s been tingling non-stop,” she retorts as she regains her balance to stand again. “Now what’s wrong with _you?_ Why did you do that?”

“I watched a clip from that movie Tally mentioned while you were getting dressed to leave. I wanted to test it.”

“Test what?”

“The Will of the Ball,” Malcolm replies, and their gazes return to Gabby.

Malcolm searches the woman’s eyes. He sees is the reflection of the TV against her locked pupils, but knows there’s more to be found than what was on the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here you go. “The Pressure of Malady” is in reference to a line from “The Fall of the House of Usher.” Thank you @morningssofgold for the literature help!
> 
> You might know how THAT story ended, but don’t make too many predictions for this story... Not now, at least ;] I want to make a point right here, right now that a lot of shows and movies misrepresent people with disabilities and a variety of physical, neurological, and psychological conditions... That is NOT what I'm out to do here. 
> 
> The book about Rabies mentioned earlier in the story is “Rabid” by Bill Wasik and Monica Murphy.
> 
> Tally being an occupational therapist (OT) is my headcanon. But it'd be cool if that's what she actually does :]
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this update!


	4. Angor Animi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Angor Animi: a patient’s perception that they are dying.”_
> 
> Welcome back! Take a guess at what’s been lacking more lately-my sanity or my writing muse?
> 
> ...Don’t answer that. Have a chapter.
> 
> **The reason why I’ve been working on everything but this story is because I was worried that the contents of this and the next chapter might be too sensitive considering the world’s current state. If intense medical situations aren’t your thing, do NOT read this, or the next chapter, right now.**
> 
> One last thing, a premature spoiler: Malcolm has a new therapist. Picture Bill Pullman in _The Sinner._

“You know, I hate these parts of sessions. The awkward silence.”

“That’s interesting,” Dr. Goldberg muses in response, sinking further into his loveseat. Malcolm looks up from his cross-legged spot on the couch opposite his therapist, trying to gauge the man’s next words. 

After 8 years with Gabrielle, he’d been able to decipher every expression that crossed her wise, worried face; Mark was new. He’d only started seeing him 2 months ago, after Gabrielle confessed that she’d feel more comfortable if an adult psychiatrist began treating him. Malcolm had reluctantly agreed; he now had “adult problems” that required “adult solutions,” not just his childhood trauma. 

Mark was Gabrielle’s foil, so it surprised him that she’d recommended the man’s private practice, run out of his own home in Tarrytown. Whereas Gabrielle would sigh and shake her head disapprovingly at Malcolm’s antics, Mark pressed him for an explanation. He called Malcolm’s bluffs, expressed disapproval in response to excuses, and, worst of all (in his eyes), responded to Malcolm’s impertinences with controlled, professional back-talk of his own.

And sometimes that back talk was nothing more than a shrewd smile and quirked brow. Like it was currently.

The two men chuckle as Malcolm realizes what he’d let himself walk into. “I believe the kids call that ‘playing yourself,’” Mark chides.

Malcolm gives his nose a quick, shy scratch, peering through the blinds into Mark’s backyard. “Care to elaborate on your comment from earlier?” He asks the doctor.

“Absolutely; thank you for asking and not assuming.” They share a laugh once more. Malcolm pats himself on the back, crediting himself for employing one of the objectives he’s been working on recently. “What I meant was this: isn’t silence loud, even _deafening_ for a profiler, rather than awkward?” 

“Depends,” Malcolm muses. “Guilt screams from the closed lips of a scared perpetrator. It tries to intimidate a rookie profiler interrogating a killer for the first time. And then there’s silences like these, after we’ve finished discussing something... Those are just plain awkward.”

“Is that all there is to silence, though?” Mark questions.

“Do you think there’s more to it?”

Mark folds his hands. “As a profiler you say you sometimes hear language in silence. As a psychiatrist, I hear language in silence, too.”

“Oh, do you now?” Malcolm props a leg over his knee, holding his shoe. Mark’s eyes twinkle.

“Sometimes it’s like what you hear: confessions, distractions, what have you.” Mark taps his pen against his notebook. “Sometimes it’s a warning: ‘don’t go there, or I may break down.’ Regardless, I hear all the words a patient doesn’t, or even can’t say. Whether they -you- want to share them aloud or not.”

Malcolm breathes in deeply.

“Sometimes I’ll finish a conversation, and listen to the language in the silence of the person in front of me,” Mark continues. “Did they want to keep going, tell me the one thing they were skirting around earlier? Do they have a new topic to bring up, before I pick a topic for us to discuss myself?"

Malcolm rolls his eyes.

"You think certain factors determine whether silence is language unspoken," his therapist goes on, "but I hear it in every soundless second. Brains aren’t quiet; no one’s is. Maybe that’s something you should consider when you’re not just on a case. Consider that when you’re with Dani... Or when you’re thinking the silence is awkward because I saw you look at my hidden clock, and you know I’m going to ask you how your meds have been lately.”

Malcolm should keep track of how many times he rolls his eyes during these sessions. He could publish a study on it: "The Effects of Seeing a Psychiatrist who Sees through My Bullshit," by Bright et al.

He sits with his lips in a hard line for a moment, before he realizes he’s creating silent words Mark is listening for. “I’ve been doing alright... On most fronts. Sleep’s been... Not great, if I’m being honest.”

“And are you?”

“You know shockingly, I haven’t fibbed to you or Dani in weeks. It’s a new record.”

“And I’m thrilled to hear that,” Mark throws up his hands. “The lack of lying, not the sleep. You know I don’t let any of your bad habits slide.” He guffaws. “So... How bad is it? Operationalize ‘not great.’”

Malcolm grins. If anything’s been enjoyable about being under this man’s care, it’s that Mark knows he barely has to code-switch during their conversations. He sees Malcolm’s brilliance, his education, his understanding, and honors it.

“Night terrors about every 2-3 days; more than usual. More mornings where I’m already dressed and ready to go 90 minutes before Dani’s alarm goes off...” Malcolm holds a breath before letting it escape. “I think the hardest part lately has been _getting_ to sleep. I can’t shut my mind off, so my heart can’t take a break, and I lie there for hours. And that leaves me awake long enough to trigger the night terrors. Which leaves me waking up from them and refusing to go back to sleep. Which leaves me...”

“...With few options, for any chance of peace at night.”

“There’s a professional way of saying ‘shit outta luck,’ yes.”

Mark rubs the pads of his index fingers together for a moment, eyes on his shoes. “I’m thinking, not waiting for you to tell me more for once.” Malcolm nods slowly, a smile toying at his lips.

Finally Mark perks, his mind made. “Have you ever been on clonidine?”

“Cloni...”

“Clonidine. _Catapres._ Commonly used to treat high blood pressure, but also prized for its sedative effects. It’s in my wheelhouse, as it was in Gabrielle’s... I’m a bit surprised she never tried it with you.”

“Perhaps if she had, my mother would screech at her for assuming I had yet another health issue,” Malcolm scoffs.

Mark raises his eyebrows. He’s been blessed with not having to meet Jessica... Yet. “Clonidine has had a way of helping patients of mine who can’t sleep be left with no other option _but_ to do so. I’m thinking that if your anxiety feels so physical, especially at night, perhaps we’d be doing your body a favor by knocking you out. And maybe your heart, too- but no assumptions, of course.”

“Let’s try it, then,” Malcolm shrugs.

“Alright. I’ll put you on 0.2 mg, which isn’t the lowest we can go, but considering how you blow through other sedatives I want to at least give you a chance of catching up on sleep tonight. Give it a week; call me if you’re not any better, and we’ll have you take 0.3mg.” He jots down instructions on his prescription pad. “Can Dani take you to get these picked up before Walgreens closes?”

“Yep. We can swing by before dinner at my mother’s tonight.”

“Perfect. Take two of the pills when you’re at a point where you can settle down to sleep. Some people are out in a half hour, others need a couple hours to finally close their eyes. You’ll find what works for you, but for now it’s best to make sure you’re not dozing off at the dinner table.” He gives Malcolm a wink before ripping the note off and handing it to him. “Here you go: two tickets to paradise. Let’s go see your girl.”

Nothing made Malcolm feel more relieved than seeing Dani in the corner of Mark’s empty sunroom-turned-waiting room at the end of each session, thumbing through a book or reading something on her phone. She never minded bringing him to his weekly appointments; she liked Mark for all the reasons he made Malcolm squirm in his seat. He was the only other person besides her that seemed to drive change in him. And Mark felt similarly about her. 

Dani spots them from her coveted seat as they leave the office, awarding them her signature tongue-in-cheek smile. “How’d we do today, boys?” She asks as she stands, favoring her “never better” tingling foot as Malcolm’s been calling it these days. 

“I’ll let you keep him for now,” Mark teases. “You alright, Dani? Or has Malcolm been teaching you some flamingo pose from yoga?”

“Banged my foot a few days ago,” she declares, leaning against Malcolm as he stands beside her. “Might be nerve damage, might be broken, might have to amputate it. All problems I can solve on my own.”

“Knowing the two of you, I have no doubt,” Mark chuckles. “I gave Malcolm a prescription to drop off today; we’re gonna work on his sleep. Encourage him to give me a call if we have to up the dose.” Dani nods at Malcolm, gives Mark a mock salute. “Otherwise, see you next week?”

“He’ll be here,” she promises, a hand squeezing Malcolm’s bicep. Mark and Malcolm exchange a knowing look-about Dani, of course- before parting ways.

Dani slides forward on the second step off the porch, Malcolm and the side-rail catching her in time. 

“Jesus, Dani,” Malcolm chuckles, steadying her as they both slow their breathing. “I get that the porch is wet, but it rained at least an hour ago.” She rolls her eyes at him, and he dodges the punch she aims at his shoulder. “I can’t have you dying on me, okay?”

“Don’t dream of it, buddy,” she pinches his cheek, making his face burn red. “Who else would drive you out to this appointments in Yuppie-ville?” She giggles as he shakes his head, rounding the corner of her black Ford Edge to the passenger’s side. “You’re not getting rid of me just yet.”

____________

The first time Dani tried wine was out of a coffee mug. She was a sophomore in college, watching _The Theory of Everything_ off a streaming website in a friend’s dorm. Her friend had nothing but a $5.00 bottle of white wrapped in bathing suit towels under her raised bed. Dani swallowed each sip as if she were taking a shot of straight vodka-or even a cup of NyQuil-but she did it all the same, wanting nothing more than to get drunk and cry over a movie before midterms rolled around. She’d joked at the time that perhaps a bottle of white that cost more than a burger would make her appreciate it as much as she’d enjoyed any old glass of red.

And now here she was, years later, with $133 Chardonnay, at a weekly dinner with her boyfriend and his mother. Hoping Jessica Whitly wouldn’t see her subtly shooting back gulps of her glass as if it were Robitussin.

“It’s nice to see they let women in roles such as yours wear such _stately_ pieces, Dani,” Jessica breaks the long silence the three of them had been sitting under, gesturing with her glass to Dani’s peach-colored satin blouse. “I’m glad they don’t force women into dressing in ‘rough and tumble’ attire all the time.”

Dani doesn’t even have to look at Malcolm to know that he won’t mention that Dani had 1.) bought the blouse in question on sale at Marshalls and 2.) changed out of her t-shirt and leather jacket into this top before they’d left to come to this dinner. They could joke about it later, but everything now was about surviving Jessica until her resolute liver finally cracked.

“Gil’s pretty progressive,” Dani pipes up. “Doesn’t care as much about what you’re wearing as your ability to get the job done. Maybe that’s why he lets Malcolm peruse crime scenes in parks all dressed up like he’s a part of New York Fashion Week.” 

Both mother and son nearly regurgitated their wine at Dani's comment before the front door swung open, seconds before Louisa could answer the doorbell. 

“I’m sorry I’m late- not that it matters, really, since I’ve said it a million times and we’ve had the ‘actions speak louder than words’ talk almost bi-weekly since I was ten.” Ainsley’s voice echoes out from the front parlor, and Dani silently thanks whatever deity exists that her boyfriend’s sister has-once again-spared her of any awkwardness after feeling a random spike of courage.

Ainsley parades in what Dani deduced was equestrian attire: a dark blue polo, steel grey pants that clung to her frame like leggings made with Spanx, and tall, dark curve-hugging boots. All mottled in specks of dirt. Dani shoots a glance at Malcolm’s direction, finding he’s holding back a laugh at the sight of his mother’s horrified face.

“Ainsley. Samantha. Whitly.” Jessica lets each word slip out of her teeth with disgust. “The carpet you’re standing on existed before your _grandmother_ said her first words, and you’re ruining it with those _nauseating_ boots?” Ainsley crosses her arms as Malcolm’s grin widens, and Jessica’s eyelids flutter at a rate too fast to be human. 

“You better hope that manure comes off the Persian designs after I get this deep-cleaned,” Jessica’s perched slightly in front of her seat now, meeting her daughter’s equally solid gaze. “We’ll see you in no less than ten minutes.”

____________

“Sorry, Dani. Our mother still doesn’t approve of me showing up at the house after I’ve visited my horse,” Ainsley chirps fifteen minutes later, emerging in a fresh outfit but still clearly not showered, much to Malcolm’s amusement and Jessica’s disapproval. She takes a seat next to Dani, her eyes challenging Jessica the whole time. “She’d rather have me strip naked behind a dumpster than show up to the house in my riding clothes.” 

Dani feels simultaneously thankful that the attention is off of her for once, and worried that a cat fight might break out between the other two women in the room. “I... Didn’t realize you had a horse,” Dani pipes up, earning a subtle nod from Malcolm. _Good. Distract them, please._

Ainsley’s face brightens as she turns to Dani. “I do!” The blonde chirps, pulling her phone from her pocket. “She’s almost five now; her name is Red. I’ll show you pictures!” Malcolm is still quietly urging her on as Jessica’s face begins to cool and Ainsley becomes absorbed in her phone.

“My mom actually rode horses,” Dani faces Jessica now. “Her parents-my grandparents-had a couple. She grew up on a little farm in Maine.”

“You’ve never told me about your mother, dear,” Jessica’s face softens, “or any of your family for that matter. Are any of them local?”

Malcolm and Dani both breathe in a steady stream of air before Dani speaks. “No. My... My mother died in a car accident, my dad passed away from cancer... My sister is no longer living, and I haven’t seen my brother in years.” Dani lets the rest of her exhale leave her body after laying her past onto mahogany table. She pauses to acknowledge a picture of Ainsley’s horse, before turning back to Jessica’s now-sunken expression. 

“I... Realize that’s a lot, but...” She shoots a quick glance at Malcolm before staring back into his mother’s eyes. “I just wanted to be honest with you.”

She felt the sympathetic gazes of both Whitly women on her as she laid her spoon back into her soup.

“Nice going, Mom,” Malcolm offered, letting his own spoon clang dramatically against his porcelain bowl.

“Sweetheart, I’m... I’m so sorry.” Jessica breathed, her gaze flickering around the room. Dani felt Ainsley’s hand squeeze her forearm. “I had no idea. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Dani minds her twisted hands in her lap, offering Jessica a soft smile. “That’s alright. Most people assume too.”

“And with that,” Malcolm lets his chair screech back violently across the hardwood floor, “Dani and I are going.” He rises from his chair, nodding at Dani. He meets Louisa by the threshold to the parlor, and throws on his jacket. “I took a new round of sleeping pills just before dinner tonight, and I think Dani’s had enough horses and high-class fashion for today.”

As she stands, Dani feels a volt of pain pelt up from her thigh to the dimples of her back. Ainsley sees her lip twitch at the sensation and takes her hand, misinterpreting her expression.

“Malcolm...” Jessica starts. “Dani. I didn’t mean-”

Dani pivots on her more stable foot to validate Jessica, but a flash of pins and needles overwhelms her toes, halting her. The Whitlys see her nose scrunch in pain, watch her stamp out the sensation against the floor.

She looks up to her concerned audience, a flush on her cheeks. “Foot fell asleep. I need to stop crossing my legs all the time.” She sees past Malcolm’s worried face, towards the door. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Whitly.” 

“There’s no need for formalities anymore, darling,” Jessica starts, but Dani’s feet have brought her into the front parlor before her brain even registers what’s transpired.

____________

“You wanna talk?” Malcolm hangs out of the bathroom, talking to her through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Dani licks her lips from her spot on their bed, shaking her head. “About your manners- or lack thereof?”

She hears him spit loudly into the sink, coughing out a chuckle. He emerges to find her tucking herself under the covers, a distant look in her eyes as she sets up his restraints for him. 

He settles onto the bed, reaching over to slide a hand over hers. “I think you know what.”

He follows her thought process through the movement of her eyebrows before she looks up at him, her face blank. “Talking about my family truly doesn’t bother me, Malcolm. And besides, they had to know at some point.”

“That doesn’t make laying all your cards out on the table any easier, though. Especially in front of someone else’s family.” He scratches his head, staving off an awkward laugh. “I know how that feels.”

“Well,” Dani presents him with one of the restraints, “Your family isn’t just any old family.” They exchange smiles as she shackles him in. “I feel more comfortable telling you guys than most. You’re good people.”

He strokes her cheek. “Dysfunction gets dysfunction. You can rely on us for anything, at any time.” They share a chaste kiss before cozying up, her head on his chest, his hand in her hair.

Minutes pass, but Dani’s still shifting against him, twisting her back and shuffling her legs.

“What are you, fighting monsters off your side of the bed?” Malcolm mumbles, rubbing her arm.

“Just feeling a bit off. How old is this bed?”

“I bought it when I moved here,” he replies, leaning up to study her. “You’ve certainly been _looking_ off lately. Both your feet are bothering you now?”

“And my back. I think this case is getting to me.”

He’s puzzled. The Constantino case has still been at an impasse as of late; they’ve only done deskwork since then. “The stress, you mean?” 

“Maybe. Probably.”

His brow furrows.

“ _Stop,_ Malcolm. You’re making _me_ nervous.” Dani turns over, burying her face against the other side of her satin pillow.

“I’m just-” He elicits a squeaking giggle from her as he pulls her waist to his- “I’m just trying to show you I care. That I’m here.” His lips drift kisses over her shoulder.

“I know you do, you oversized puppy,” she teases. “Now show me by shutting up so I can sleep.”

____________

A week later, and the clonidine still wasn’t working. At least not to his liking.

On this night, Malcolm had remained awake for another hour after Dani’s breaths became tidal and sleep-like, until he felt a sudden heaviness overcome him. It felt oddly comforting, realizing he could let go; even his anxious thoughts didn’t have the strength to keep him awake. Sleep found him sooner than it had in decades.

Until 3:22 a.m., when his biological clock recognized he was usually up pondering his existence and tore him from REM.

Resigned, Malcolm had since opted to spend the last few early morning hours watching Dani sleep.

He’s never had to worry about her, at least not to the degree she’s probably worried about him. He thinks of the parents who raised her (and ultimately had to bury), silently thanking them for giving her a good head on her shoulders. He thinks of the siblings she grew up alongside, thanking them for making her diplomatic and tough. And lastly, he wordlessly thanks Dani, for being herself. Her independence, as well as her ability to be nurturing and supportive, made her his ideal partner. She was self-sufficient enough to look after herself when he needed space, but at the ready if he needed her. He’d often pleaded with her to let him look after her for once, worrying about how often their relationship was unbalanced, but she’d always respond that she didn’t require the same care he did from her.

“I’m an easy keeper,” she’d told him once. “Your loyalty and presence is enough. I’d let you know if I wanted more, but truthfully? I don’t.”

Looking at her beside him now, though, he finally begins to worry. Nursing her through the flu a couple weeks ago was one thing; he knew that this problem had a course, and that it would end, and that there were ways he could alleviate what troubled her. The numbness and aches she’d been living with, however, made his heart lurch and his mouth dry. Something felt wrong with her current state, and he felt she shared this sense of dread, too.

Malcolm settles down again, pressing his face against her neck. He inhales the scent of Dani’s blueberry leave-in, trying to drown a memory that creeps into his mind.

______

“They call it ‘the Feeling of Impending Doom,’” his father breathed drama into his words. “But I prefer the term _Angor Animi,_ because Latin always sounds more clinical.” When Malcolm didn’t reciprocate the joke, Dr. Whitly continued. “It’s a patient’s perception that they’re dying, even if they aren’t going to flop dead on the floor right then and there. It’s this...indescribable feeling that something very, _very_ bad is about to happen to their body, though the patient isn’t sure of what, or when, or even _if_ they’re truly in trouble.”

“But you believed them?” Malcolm had asked.

“Always,” his father promised. _Angor Animi_ can precede a heart attack, or even, interestingly, the consequences of a jellyfish sting.” Dr. Whitly chuckled, then leaned in closer to Malcolm. “Truthfully, kiddo,” he whispered, “I witnessed it in people who _weren’t_ my patients, if you get what I mean...”

______

Malcolm snaps awake to the sound of his ringtone coming from his bedside table. He doesn’t even have time to groan out a greeting before Gil speaks.

“We got a body. Dr. Bloom’s wife, found in their apartment. Get moving.”

Gil hangs up before Malcolm can even feel excitement at the new development.

He sits up in bed, uncuffing his restraints to stretch before turning to his girlfriend. “Good news: we got a new vic in the Constantino case. Well, if you want to call that good news.”

Dani remains still.

“Dani?” he asks through a yawn, rubbing her arm. “Dani, sweetheart?”

No movement, no noise, no response.

Nothing but “the Feeling of Impending Doom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter to be uploaded shortly.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m going to be juggling publishing chapters for this with school and other WIPs, but I will do whatever I can to update this regularly!
> 
> Information related to “Dying of Fright” came from this article: https://www.livescience.com/52573-can-you-die-of-fright.html 
> 
> Information related to Encephalitis Lethargica comes from “This Podcast Will Kill You: Episode 30” as well as CDC.gov, The Encephalitis Society, ninds.nih.gov and Wikipedia.
> 
> Not all medical, forensic, legal or criminal justice scenarios and information may be 100% accurate because I’m merely a writer, and this is merely a fanfiction.
> 
> Title partly inspired by a line from a story that will be announced in the next chapter (can you guess what it is?)


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